


Crack!Mirandy

by Astratta



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5968126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astratta/pseuds/Astratta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GP!Miranda and Virgin!Andy have some crack!fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TIGGRAIN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TIGGRAIN/gifts).



> I’m pretty sure this is not what TIGGRAIN meant when this suggestion was made: “GP!Miranda pursing a Virgin!Andy, whether Andy works for Miranda or they meet some other way up to you.” But somehow it started out serious and then took a turn into crack!fic land and didn’t recover… Sorry about that!

“Andrea,” that soft, silky, spine-chilling voice called out from the inner office, beckoning Andy into the mouth of the wolf, where she would undoubtedly be given yet another impossible demand. God! Wasn’t _Harry fucking Potter_ enough?!

“Yes, Miranda.” It wasn’t a question, because one never asked Miranda Priestly a question. It was simply a cue to begin her ceaseless assault of demands while Andy scribbled as quickly as she could onto a notepad and hoped her brain managed to fill in whatever gaps her hand missed.

“Shut the door.”

Andy blanched, and then she moved rotely over to the glass doors and shot Emily a look that was clearly a plea for help, to which she received only a sympathetic and knowing look. She turned back to Miranda with great trepidation and tried to determine what, other than going up the stairs, for which she thought she’d already paid her due, she could have fucked up recently.

“You understand, by now, that working for _Runway_ requires passing a certain number of…tests,” Miranda began.

Oh god. Oh god. Where was this going? What miracle was Andy going to have to perform now?

“I won’t belabor the obvious. You have passed every test thus far.”

The obvious? How was that obvious? Just last week she’d been told, under no uncertain terms, how utterly incompetent she was! More incompetent that a blind giraffe, Miranda had said! And less graceful too!

“There is…” And Miranda paused.

There is what? There is a hopeless test for Andy to fail at now that she’s been told she managed to squeak by on all the others? There is a flying, miniature, invisible unicorn that Andy must find and catch so it can be spray-painted and used in the next photo shoot Miranda dreamed up? There is a sharp and pointy stake upon which Andy must fling herself to prove her worth? There is WHAT?

“…One test that each second assistant must pass to remain on to become first assistant.”

And that would be????

“Have sex with me.”

Andy blinked rapidly, her brain coming to a screeching halt. “Ex—excuse me?”

Miranda shot her a glare. “You know how I love repeating myself, Andrea.”

“I— I— I— Sex with— You— Wha— What?”

“Sex,” Miranda said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like she was explaining the difference between red and green to a hard-of-hearing two-year-old very, very slowly. “With. Me.”

“You can’t— I won’t— This is— This is— This is sexual harassment!”

Miranda laughed— _laughed._ “Of course it is!” And then she stood up and glided gracefully over to where Andy stood, and Andy had the distinct feeling of being small and vulnerable prey stalked by a large, vicious predator. “Will you report me?” Miranda purred, practically into Andy’s ear. “Will you reject my…offer?” she continued, lifting a finger to run over Andy’s suddenly burning cheek. “Or will you do as I say and _just_ as I say? Hmm?” And suddenly Andy was having trouble catching her breath.

But just as quickly as it all began, it ended, and Miranda turned back to her desk. “I expect The Book by eight. Bring it to the study. That’s all.”

Andy had to blink several times and shake her head madly like a wet dog to clear it enough to walk shakily back to her desk, and she was utterly useless the rest of the day, which, oddly enough, Emily did not give her grief over.

In fact, as Emily left for the day, she awkwardly patted Andy’s shoulder—once, twice, and then a third, hesitant half-pat. “Better you than me. I’ve been sore for a good eight months.” And then the redhead reached into her purse and produced a bottle of lube. “Trust me, you’ll need that.” And then she winced as she walked away—slowly.

Andy had never noticed before just how slowly Emily walked when Miranda wasn’t holding a lit match under her ass—figuratively, of course.

She stared down at the bottle of lube. It was half full. Or…half empty. Oh god.


	2. Chapter 2

At precisely 7:45, Andy let herself into Miranda’s townhouse, eyes immediately drawn to the only light to be seen, pouring out of Miranda’s study at the end of the hall. As she hung the dry cleaning up, she reviewed everything she’d rehearsed in her head.

She’d keep it simple.

Miranda, I will not have sex with you. If you continue to pursue this, I will go to HR and file a formal complaint.

Simple. No need to mention that she was, at the ripe old age of 22, still a virgin. Or that her college boyfriend, Nate, had unceremoniously dumped her because she hadn’t been ready to drop trou for him, even though she could give a mean blowjob, deepthroating and all. Or that she’d found herself practically salivating over her mercurial boss lately, especially in those Bill Blass slacks that made her ass look _amazing._ And especially not that she’d killed the battery on her vibrator fantasizing to the imaginings of a particular head of silver hair pressed between her thighs.

Simple. Right.

“Andrea.”

“Ye— yes, Miranda.” Dammit! No stuttering! That was important if she wanted Miranda to take her seriously!

Nervously, Andy made her way into the study and wordlessly placed The Book into Miranda’s outstretched hand. And then she opened her mouth to speak and was met with a patented pursing of the lips.

“Come closer,” Miranda said, not moving an inch from where she was seated on her armchair as if it were a throne. And, compelled, Andy simply…did. “Yes. Good. Now, drop to your knees.” It was like Miranda had some sort of magical power over her. She said, and Andy did. “Unzip my pants.” Said. Did. “Take it out.”

“Take what out?”

_Shit!_ You do not ask Miranda questions. You do _not_ ask Miranda questions. _You_ do not ask _Miranda_ questions.

“My cock, of course,” Miranda murmured, reaching out to stroke Andy’s hair.

Cock?! And— and— stroking?! And— Miranda— Cock— Hair— What— What?!

But she obeyed. Of course she obeyed. She was caught in some kind of crack!verse in which Miranda had a cock and called it a cock and wanted virgin!Andy to have sex with her.

So she pulled it out, with some difficulty, because it was hard and hot and _huge._

“I’ve decided it will be your ass today.”

“Wha— Huh?”

Her ass? Her _ass?_ Oh god.

“Take off your pants and turn around. Where is the lubricant? I told Emily to give it to you.”

“You— you told— _you_ told—”

“Ah. Here it is in your purse. Oh, you’ve decided to bare all. I suppose that’s fine.”

When— when had she— _why_ had she taken all of her clothes off?!

And was— was Miranda rubbing lube onto her…

“All right. Now, sit that pretty little ass onto my cock.”

“I— I— Miranda— I’ve never—” Had sex before in my life, if you don’t count myself.

“Oh, don’t worry, Andrea. I do enjoy a virgin asshole.”

“You— virgin— asshole— cock?!”

And then Miranda spun Andy around, slathered a fair amount of lube onto her, lined up, and plunged right in, up to the very hilt.

Andy had tensed, expecting to be in for a world of hurt, but, miraculously, she just felt full and somehow, sated of a hunger she hadn’t even known she’d felt. And then Miranda started a rapidly accelerating rhythm of thrusts, and that undefined hunger was roaring back to life with a vengeance the size of Miranda’s ridiculously large…cock.

“Oh god!” Andy screamed.

“Good god, Andrea, you are tight!” Miranda cried into her ear. “Far tighter than Emily! Even when my blubbering soon-to-be-ex-husband decided he wanted her pussy while I reamed her ass!”

_What?!_

But the pounding of Miranda’s cock into her and the pounding of blood through her skull and the pounding of the freaking chair back into the wall was too much, and Andy came…and came…and came, and Miranda didn’t stop thrusting into her no-longer-virgin asshole until Andy begged her to.

“Oh! Of course! Sorry, darling!”

_Darling?!_

“Here we go.”

“Wh— wait! Miranda!”

“Oh! Your pussy is just as tight as your ass!”

“Miran— Oh, fuck!” There was blood. There was blood staining Miranda’s cock, and Andy had totally just lost her virginity, but she was above all pain, and…she was once again coming!

“Andrea! Andrea, were you— Am I hurting yo—”

“Don’t stop! Don’t you fucking dare stop!”

But Miranda did, so Andy spun right around on her cock to look her in the eyes as she took over, ramming herself down onto Miranda over and over again, until Miranda was coming underneath her with wide, glassy eyes.

“Andrea! _Andrea!_ ”

Then they were both panting, and Andy had to slump over into Miranda to keep herself from falling off the armchair completely, and she could actually feel the giant bursts of semen flowing into her.

“Oh, Andrea,” Miranda gasped. “I forgot the condom.”

The condom?!


	3. Epilogue

“Mama.” Their nine-year-old, Catherine, stared up at Andy with big, brown eyes. “When did you have sex the first time?”

Her fourth-grade class had recently been going over sex ed, and, naturally, she was quite curious. She’d already plied Caroline and Cassidy, who were now seniors at UCLA, with inappropriate questions over the phone.

Andy glanced at her wife, who was looking over The Book with pursed lips and who, in the spirit of being editor, simply corrected, “It should be ‘when did you first have sex,’ darling,” to which Catherine bobbed her head.

“When did you first have sex, Mama?”

Andy had to hide a smirk as she answered honestly, “When I was twenty-two, baby, with your mommy.”

And of course, Catherine being Miranda’s daughter, then turned to the editor. “Mommy, what about you?”

“Yes, Mommy, what about you?” _Oh_ , this was _too_ much fun.

Miranda blanched and choked on her coffee and dropped The Book to the floor. “I— You— Uh—”

She started to turn red in the face, and Andy already knew that she would be even sorer than usual for the next week or so, but it was _so_ worth it.


End file.
